


Drown, Adonis, Drown.

by VeryBadMau



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Infidelity... sort of, Male Solo, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Vaginal Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 01:45:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryBadMau/pseuds/VeryBadMau
Summary: After his return from Egypt to hide the Egyptian Gods, Pegasus dreams of Cyndia, but it is Isis who lingers in his fantasies, much to his remorse. Just a sad tale of a man, alone, in a bed with his thoughts. Pre-Season One, takes place after the flashback in Episode 85. Graphic depictions of Roseshipping, Sightshipping, and self-care. One-shot.





	Drown, Adonis, Drown.

 

 Author's Notes: Without fail, what was supposed to be a simple, saucy one-shot turned into another rousing rendition of amateur psychoanalysis of a fictional character. The sexy bits are still there and the fic still warrants an explicit rating for those depictions, but I sadly went overboard and tripled my estimated word count with things that are decidedly not very sexy to write about. The story starts out innocent, then it gets sad, then it gets maudlin, then it gets really hot, and then it just gets depressing. One of these days, I will be able to post something that’s just pure, steamy smut the whole way though, but today is not that day. :/

There are tidbits here and there that hint to things that will eventually take place in my in-progress fic (as of this post), [Winged Horse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739269/chapters/34074206), but it's not necessarily vital to read that story before going over this one, so methinks it's no biggie. I also make a mention of water lilies “floating” in this story, but IRL they tend to grow in shallow soil and they're anchored in place, but it's Pegasus' fantasy and he's not a botanist, so just sorta keep that in mind when you're reading... if you care about that kind of thing at all.

If you would like to take a peek into what else was going on in my head as I was writing this (ideally after you read the story), my extended author’s notes can be found at my personal Wordpress site **[here](https://verybadmau.wordpress.com/2019/01/19/drown-adonis-drown-musing-symbolism-and-sweet-tea/)** , as well as additional commentary and references scattered throughout at the same website on this page [**here**](https://verybadmau.wordpress.com/2019/01/19/drown-adonis-drown-the-dying-and-rising-horse-80s-pop-music-and-madame-bovarys-lurid-origins/).

Though, really, let’s all be honest with each other. You read the summary. You saw the rating. You glanced at the tags. You know why I _really_ wrote this, and I know _exactly_ why you clicked on the link.

Things start to get graphic at about 4,000 words, but if you want to get to the actual smut, then the sexy stuff really starts around “Fine, then. He guessed this was happening.”

Enjoy your word porn.

 **Warnings:** Solo-male, masturbation, unwanted erections, explosive ejaculation, fellatio, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, religious imagery, bloodletting(?), heavily referenced teen sex, implied sex during school hours, implied sex in a church, dirty talk, mention to a pearl necklace, implied pegging, tit-fucking, female ejaculation, wasting expensive paint, wasting expensive tea, tarnishing family heirlooms, undertones of Oriental fetishization, feelings of infidelity, and _**angst**_.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Please roll in and clean my sins_  
_Now everything is clear_  
_I'm having fun under the sun_  
_Wishing you were here_

[Drown, _Theory of a Deadman_](https://youtu.be/hT2wcGCk0sc)

 

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

 

Pegasus closed his eye and took a deep breath as he stood in front of the open window, closing the final button on his white silk pajama shirt and smoothing a hand over the gold monogrammed initials, “PJC”, on the left side of his chest. For several seconds, he savored the subtle spice to the ocean air and the soft rustling of the forest surrounding the coastal villa, before he exhaled and opened his eye to admire the full moon floating above the grassy hills. His long, silver hair shifted in small waves with the cool night breeze.

 

It was nice to be back in a temperate climate again.

 

Though his trip to Egypt had not been that long, a week and a day framed by long international flights, the experience had strained him. He was glad to be rid of the Egyptian Gods, a pressure he had been more than welcome to shed from his shoulders, but the impromptu cross-country adventure with Miss Ishtar had added weight to his brow. He knew sealing the accursed cards was going to take some effort, but he hadn't been expecting such a tumultuous road trip after their initial meeting at the hotel. What a grand mess it had been to avoid the woman's _insane_ brothers and their quaint little crime ring, rushing to and fro across the hot landscape to hide the cards, all while enduring her piercing gaze and harsh assertions throughout—how odd it had been to stand in the presence of a woman with so many hard edges when she was only four years his junior. Millennium Item or no, someone that young shouldn't have been capable of a look so cold.

 

Though, she had warmed up considerably those last three days...

 

He flinched as a sudden gust of wind twirled about his head and sent his well groomed hair whipping at his face, feeling small, numerous slaps to his cheeks and neck. With an agitated grunt, he closed the shutters and combed his fingers through his hair to undo the small knots that had formed from the burst with a grimace. Moonlight struggled to pierce the heavy blackout curtains as he made his way to his bed, grumbling and shaking his head as he tried to cut off his reminiscence of the prior week's events.

 

Their time had been short, their mission brief, and Isis had been every bit as infuriating to tolerate as she had been prim and precise, an atrocious fatalist in so many respects and an absolute downer in even the most casual of conversations. It was a struggle to get a human reaction out of the woman.

 

… Yet it had made those moments where he caught the upward turn to her mouth worth the effort of trying, and to see that that spark within her ignite behind the stony gaze...

 

Pegasus sighed as he worked out the last of the knots, before he pushed apart the periwinkle veil of his canopied bed with the backs of his hands to admit his person to the plush expanse of Egyptian cotton. He was a fool to believe that he could find some semblance of _hope_ in someone who was determined to be so miserable, if even for a _moment_ he thought he could—

 

Well, it didn't matter what he thought. That was all in the past, and she was resigned to be bound to it, along with whatever hideous future she had foreseen and accepted. A shame for someone so bright in so many respects, but that wasn't his problem in the grander scheme of things. He had his own worries, his own aspirations, his own life to worry about, and Isis Ishtar would have nothing to do with it. She had made that quite evident with their departure in Cairo, all there in black and white, clear as crystal: _fi_ _nis_ , done, the end, that's all. Good day, sir.

 

There would only, ever, be one.

 

He shifted lightly across the bed, slender fingers finding the hem of the sheets under the royal blue comforter, sinking into the thick memory foam and numerous, fluffy pillows as he nestled underneath the covers. He was exhausted, still jet-lagged and in need of a good night's rest below the stratosphere, but he still had one thing he needed to do before he drifted off to slumber.

 

Pegasus reached over and brushed the veil out of the way, reaching for the picture resting atop the varnished rosewood nightstand. He could barely see the image in the dark room, but the face was always vivid to his eye.

 

“Goodnight,” he whispered. Pegasus gently placed his lips against the polished surface where the young woman's temple was before he withdrew and cleaned the small smudge with the cuff of his pajama sleeve. He traced the golden oak leaves of the frame with his fingertips and ghosted his thumb just above the glass, across her cheek, and he smiled lightly as he placed the photograph back on the nightstand.

 

The bed's veil chased his hand when he withdrew it from the picture, settling in place beside his head. With another heavy sigh, he adjusted his legs under the sheets and brought the hems to his collar, sinking his head into a pillow and rolling his shoulders as the mattress formed to his backside. He laid there and closed his biological eye, deep breaths becoming less focused and more shallow, more relaxed, and a haze drifted over his head as his limbs lost tension.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

When he awoke, Pegasus was surprised to find his pajamas replaced with a stained artist smock and suspenders over a simple beige blouse and tawny brown trousers. Instead of lying in his bed, he was standing at the edge of crowded woodline with a blanket of snow coating the ground, moonlight casting the trees' shadows across his face. What was he doing outside at this time of night, in this weather, and if he was painting, where was his canvas? His easel? His supplies? His subject?

 

As he looked around frantically to make sense of his surroundings, a flash of gold caught his eye over his shoulder and he turned to face the bright glint. There, right _there_ , in front of him, within arm's reach, _his_ reach, with the wind at his back carrying his breath with his gasp and cooling the tear trails on his cheeks was _her_.

 

“Cyndia!”

 

Without question or hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her petite frame and brought her flush against his body, pressing his nose into her hair and cradling the back of her head in his hand while the other gripped at the center of her lumbar and bunched the fabric of her dress in his fist. This wasn't an illusion! He could see her. He could smell her. He could touch her. She was here. She was _really_ here!

 

“Pegasus...” she uttered into his chest, and she balled the front of his smock in her hands. Oh, how he missed her voice! To hear, the _feel_ that sound fall on his ears, that splendid tone that carried across the air like a singing finch and lingered in his head like a bell chime. Tears dripped into her hair and he was certain he was making a fine spectacle of himself, an embarrassment after all this time apart, but he couldn't retain the happy sobs and sniffles as he dared to squeeze her closer to him and nuzzled the top of her head. He waited so long to see her again, to hold her again, to be with her like this, and he swore he would never let go.

 

Pegasus shifted his hands from her head and back to trace along her shoulders and cup her face, placing quick, flitting kisses across her temples, her cheeks, and finally, those small, rosy, heart-shaped lips. He relished the subtle, sweet flavor that coated his tongue as she parted her lips and stroked the sides of his face, something familiar and new all at once, a fruity note that reminded him of pomegranates and the scent of lavender at her fingertips.

 

“I missed you,” he cried between kisses, running his hands through her silken, voluminous blonde hair. “I missed you. I missed you. I missed you so much.”

 

With great effort, he pulled his face away from hers to behold her in the moonlight. Her fair skin was aglow and her hair appeared as a flowing halo about her person, but her eyes, those stunning, brilliant blue eyes that put the dye of her dress to shame, they shined in a way that made his heart halt in his chest and knocked the wind out of his lungs, but something was amiss. She was looking at him, this he could see, could perceive, _knew_ , but there was something else to the stare, something forlorn and sad.

 

Why wasn't she smiling?

 

“Cyndia, my love, wh—”

 

It took every ounce of his willpower to keep his hands on her shoulders instead of plugging his ears as a horrific sound tore through the trees and sent chattering sparrows flying from the branches. It was the mighty blow of a ram's horn, a deep bellow from the woods, something that rumbled beneath his feet and vibrated in his rib cage, a roar that pierced his eardrums and bounced against the walls of his skull.

 

He grimaced and tucked his chin to his chest with a wretched groan. Cyndia furrowed her brow and looked over her shoulder, staring into and through the trees as the sound faded, biting her lip as she gingerly placed her soft, slender hands over Pegasus'. Ears ringing and heart racing, he looked up to make sure she was all right. Cyndia closed her eyes with a frown and brought his hands to her lips, placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles before pressing them to her chest, smoothing her fingertips over the bony bumps and ridges. With a deep, languishing breath, she opened her eyes and gave him a painful, apologetic look, and the blue of her eyes shifted from the sky of a brisk autumn day to the endless expanse that held the stars above them.

 

“I'm sorry,” Cyndia whispered.

 

Before Pegasus could process what she had said, to inquire, to retort, to _protest_ , his hands dropped from hers and she ran into the forest.

 

_No!_

 

“Cyndia!” he cried, lurching forward, reaching out, and catching nothing as she disappeared into the dense thicket with the crunch of snow beneath her feet. He folded to his knees and dug his hands into the dirt, shaking as his tears fell and fed the earth beneath him with no more than the rustling leaves, the fallen snow, and a silent moon to keep him company.

 

No.

 

 _No_.

 

No, _no_ , that wasn't right.

 

 _This_ wasn't right.

 

Cyndia didn't _run_. She would _never_ run. Not like _this_ , not from _him_.

 

She would never leave him, not willingly.

 

She had been _taken_ from him, and he had to fight to get her back.

 

With a determined shine to his right eye and an ominous glow to his left, he wiped the tears from his cheeks, got to his feet, and took off into the woods.

 

Nature had no sense of sentimentality.

 

Upon bounding into the wilderness, Pegasus was immediately accosted with spiny plants and burrs clung to his hair. He ignored the pricks and cuts to his skin, the sharp limbs and needle-like fingers tearing at his clothes with each hurried pace as he made his way deeper into the forest, his smock discarded and forgotten, his suspenders sliced to ribbons and his blouse reduced to tatters that exposed his chest and arms. He called out for her with every other twist and turn in the packed growth, but all that replied was his own echo into the void beyond the trees. He swore as a branch threatened to strike his temple and he slapped it out of the way, his ankle catching an exposed root with the next step and wrenching, _snapping_ as his stunted momentum made him lose his balance and tumble into a bed of thorns.

 

With a harrowed cry, the thorns writhed and wrapped around his body, digging into his limbs and constricting his torso like a den of hungry snakes. He hissed and groaned as more of the spiny tendrils encircled his head, as though it wasn't enough for the world to take one eye from him. He shut his right eye and turned his chin to his chest as he felt the thorns scrape against the gold that occupied his left socket, before they settled and sank into his cheeks. He felt sharp points resting just above the thin slip of flesh that protected his only eye, and he knew he would lose it if he dared to look.

 

Damn it. The Millennium Eye promised he would _see_ her again. What good would the vow do him if he was blind? What good would he be to Cyndia then?

 

Pegasus couldn't risk the loss, so he didn't. He moaned miserly as the thorns sank deeper into his skin, hoisting him up and slamming him into the hollow of a tree. The thorns seemed content with their task and anchored him to the surrounding bark, burrowing into the underlying muscle tissue.

 

“Cyndia...” he wept, and as though to mock him, a thorn cut his lip. He flinched, and he could feel more of the relentless needles surrounding his face and beginning to dig, slowly, a hundred little points of fire boring down and searching for bone. The stinging heat that penetrated his nerves were at odds with the cold of the wind that blew over his body and lingered on the blood that leaked from the countless cuts. He began to shake from the loss of vitality and his eyelid twitched. He couldn't open it; he _wouldn't,_ but he was also beginning to feel so... drained, and so very tired. His arms and legs were so numb, and the stinging fire was fading fast. The passing, nighttime breeze was like a sheet of ice across his body, and the wintery wind howled around him, a sound that reminded him too much of a wolf pack that had found a fresh carcass in the snow.

 

 _No_.

 

No, _no._

 

Cyndia was still out there, waiting for him. It couldn't end here. Not here, not like this.

 

But he couldn't _see_.

 

He gasped as an entirely different sort of fire washed over him and the thorns ceased their invasion. They laid still on his person and felt brittle against his skin, like they had dried out and died under the sudden rush of heat. He wanted to open his eye, but those final nagging, threatening, _annoying_ thorns remained poised above his brow, just waiting for an opportunity to pluck out the last of his sight. He wished more than ever that he could have his vision back, because without warning, he heard the sharp, crisp snapping of dried twigs as something (someone?) grabbed him by the waist and tore him not-too-gently out of the tree.

 

“Ow!” he cried. Pinpricks and roving, microscopic points swirled beneath his fingertips as he flexed his hands, a warmth radiating from whatever (whomever?) was cradling him in its (their?) arms and giving him life where there had been a stifling chill. He dared to reach up, feel for what rescued him—or perhaps took him for a free meal—and a stuttered chortle escaped from his throat as he felt a smooth, petite face and lush lips.

 

“Cyndia!” he shouted excitedly.

 

She came back for him, _to_ him. He knew she would never abandon him. She had escaped from the darkness that took her and she had braved the unknown to search for him. She found him. She _saved_ _him_. Oh, if he could just rid himself of those wretched thorns above his eye so he could behold her properly and praise her as she deserved!

 

Her lips parted beneath his hand and wrapped around his thumb.

 

… That was new.

 

“U-uh, Cyndia?” Pegasus giggled nervously, feeling her tongue lash out and lap at his open palm, cupping his hand in hers as she made her way up his arm with soft suckling sounds. Was she trying to clean his wounds, perhaps? He supposed that was a rudimentary way of going about it, but—

 

“Ah!” he gasped, feeling her tongue trace along his torso and across his chest, before focusing on his neck and sucking on the sensitive flesh behind his ear. Before he could ask her exactly _what_ it was that she was trying to do, he got his answer as she pressed her mouth to his and parted his lips with her tongue. He noted the coppery tang of his own blood in her mouth, and now his, as she embraced him and cradled the back of his head in her hands, a soothing heat flowing to the back of his throat, spreading into his heart and expanding in his chest. Without protest (why would he?), he reached up from her face to the top of her scalp to run his fingers through her hair. It was luxurious, satin smooth to the touch, but there was also something different about the texture. It felt... straighter, somehow.

 

Before Pegasus could process the thought in full, he moaned as a hand drifted between them and slipped beneath what little fabric had been left of his pants, stroking his hardening length and sucking on his lower lip.

 

“Cyndia,” he shivered. He didn't have time to regret losing the feeling of her lips upon his as her head slipped from his hands and traveled lower. Her hair tickled his stomach as she dragged her tongue down his midsection and dipped into his navel, and he balled the silken strands in his fists when he felt her working on the button of his tattered pants. Of all the things the thorns let him keep...

 

“You're still so cold,” she murmured against his waist, suckling on the wounds there as deft fingers undid the button and unzipped his fly, encircling the stiff flesh as she freed it of its binds.

 

 _Wait_.

 

That wasn't Cyndia's voice.

 

With a panicked jerk, Pegasus reached up to his own forehead and grabbed at the wreath of thorns that had been lingering there, not caring about the pain when the dried, dead points penetrated his palm and tore at his scalp as he ripped it away. _F_ _inally,_ he could open his eye. His mouth hung agape with the burning, hot amber of his shocked iris as he beheld a set of kohl-lined, sapphire eyes and ebony hair.

 

“You poor thing,” Isis cooed, holding the base of his cock between her hands and brushing the head with her cheek. “Bearing all those thorns must have been so painful.”

 

Her tan skin glowed in the morning sunlight and the snow melted where she knelt between his legs, revealing a bed of flowers and fresh saplings as she ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft, and she stared up at him longingly with sparkling, half-lidded eyes.

 

“Let me take care of you.”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

“AAAHH!!”

 

Pegasus bolted upright with a scream and kicked wildly at the sheets as the upper half of his body shot up and curled over his legs. His hair brushed over his knuckles, bone-white and trembling as he clenched the blankets in his fists, and a bead of sweat dropped from his forehead onto the back of his hand. With a stuttered breath, he gathered the control to let go of the fabric and his hands flew over his face as he flopped back into the mattress with a padded thump, groaning and grimacing into his palms.

 

What was _she_ doing there?

 

Pegasus rubbed at his temples with a guilty frown, gritting his teeth as he hissed. How could he even think of _her_? Damn it, of all the women...

 

He blinked leadenly underneath his fingers with a pout in realization. Come to think of it, aside from Cyndia, Isis had been the only other woman of which he had spent any prolonged amount of time socializing with beyond a handful of hours outside of fundraisers or board meetings. An outsider may have thought Isis had her hand on an invisible leash with the way she had insisted he follow her in the past week. The strict, domineering Egyptian had practically dragged him—

 

Pegasus hissed again as he felt something twitch under the sheets.

 

_Oh, for the love of—_

 

No, he was not going to give _that_ any attention.

 

Pegasus' hands thumped at his sides on the plush comforter as he stared grimly at the ceiling of his canopy bed, his vision having adjusted to the dim lighting and making out the silhouettes along the edges of the woodwork and veil. It wasn't that complicated. It had been a long _business_ _trip,_ and he had spent some considerable time in close proximity with Isi— _Miss_ _Ishtar_. He was probably still trying to process all the stimuli on a subconscious level and things got jumbled within his mind. Chalk it all up to primitive oneirology.

 

Not to say that Is— _Miss_ _Ishtar!_ — was primitive in any sense. In many ways, her standing and demeanor had, at first, reminded him of the girls from his days in private school. They were all manners and decorum with very little substance to the pleated tartan skirts, perfectly pressed blouses, and badged sweater vests (Good Lord, why did they make _everyone_ at St. Mary's wear those hideous things in _Las_ _Vegas_?!). Those girls were nothing at all like Cyndia, someone who could command attention with her presence alone, someone who never succumbed to the pressure of the upper crust's bogus niceties and had no fear of repercussions as she put people in their place with the most eloquent diction and with the sharpest of tongues, all behind the brightest of eyes and the most entrancing of smiles.

 

Miss Ishtar, meanwhile, was so _restricted_ in so many regards, always acting like she had something to lose.

 

… Then again, she had.

 

She _did_.

 

Not that it was any of _his_ business. She certainly saw to that.

 

It was a mercy, really. Pegasus already had a great sum of designs in mind, his own visions to attain, and it simply would not have been ideal to take another burden on his already full plate. Isi— _Miss_ _Ishtar_ could bear her responsibilities on her own shoulders, as she assured him several times throughout the mission. So there was no need to feel any remorse for how things had ended between them.

 

Well, that wasn't to say anything _had_ ended at all, because nothing had started between them, and nothing _would_ start between them. Which worked out all the better for him. No need to deal with the woman's complicated history, or her unlawful brothers, or her intense, penetrating gaze. He had never known anyone born with sapphire in their eyes, nor had he ever seen the small flecks of emerald green that sparkled behind them when she sat in front of a small campfire as she recollected lost accounts of antiquity. Then, to see them glimmer when she laughed—not a sound of derision, but of delight, when he asked her about a common misconception regarding Egyptian culture, or to clarify something he didn't understand. It lifted his spirits to know that he had, just for the that moment, made her forget about the weight of the Millennium Torque encircling her slender neck. The elaborate gold had drawn the eye to her collar and bare shoulders, the expanse of tan skin an alluring contrast to the white of her dress, a loose, flowing design that somehow still managed to accentuate her body in all the right—

 

_Shit._

 

With another mighty scowl, Pegasus sighed and lifted the sheets, squinting down at the annoying disturbance with a subdued growl. Peeking out proudly from the waistband of his white silk pajama pants was his erect cock, the shaft going above and beyond its “usual” duty of pitching a simple tent in his sleep wear, lying flush against his pelvis and over his button-up top. The boastful head was nearly unsheathed from the foreskin as it rested comfortably just below his navel line, and a small, unintentional twitch sent a clear droplet of precum sliding down the tip. Almost immediately, it was absorbed into the fabric of his shirt.

 

Just lovely.

 

“Hello, friend,” Pegasus muttered.

 

He had said the word “friend” less like he was addressing the sort of friend one would enjoy to have over for afternoon tea and more like the sort of “friend” who came to one's doorstep at two in the morning fretting about his horse losing at the track and asking if he could hide until Gino 'n' the boys cooled their heads. Pegasus sighed and rubbed his temple again. Why did he choose to watch a mobster flick on the flight back?

 

Pegasus hated waking up like this. He _always_ hated waking up like this, and he growled once more as he spread his arms wide against the pillows. The sheets sank to cover everything from the waist down, and he tried not to pay any attention to the noticeable bump underneath the blanket. All that vigor and vitality was wasted on him. It wasn't as though he had anyone to share it with, and the alternatives to quell the beast always proved to be more of a bothersome task than a pleasurable venture. With the dreary haze of travel that still clutched at his eye and the sleepy weight of fatigue pressing against his limbs, the mere handful of short paces to his shower from the bed may as well have been a mile, and much to his chagrin, this particular episode was not of the typical... solidity. He could count on the usual bout of arousal going away with a short walk and a hefty dose of cold water, but this _wasn't_ the usual bout.

 

He was so _stiff._ Even the most minute movements, like the shifting of his legs, which moved the sheets and caused cotton to coast over the tender, pink flesh of the head, sent a small jolt through his loins and a tingle in his backside. The sensitivity was as such that the stimulation was almost painful. With Pegasus becoming more aware of the harsh severity, he snaked his hands underneath the sheets and hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his pajama pants to relieve the pressure on his stubborn cock. He took a sharp intake of air through his teeth and threw his head back with a knitted brow as he moved the silk down the shaft to rest at the base. There was another warm jolt and he had to choke back a moan as the entire length tensed, raising itself by millimeters before lying back against his pelvis. Pegasus dared to glance down at it again and the head had emerged completely from the foreskin, poking suggestively into his belly button. It was so _hard_ , the damned thing could have been used as a weapon to bludgeon someone to death.

 

Pegasus cringed at the thought. Really, why did he have to watch that mafia flick?

 

… Thought, _thought_. Mind over matter. The power of the Eye itself was proof enough of this concept. So _Miss Ishtar_ was the focus of the carnal urges. He just needed to modify his image of her to temper them. With a shallow breath, he closed his eye and pressed his index fingers against his thumbs (or was he supposed to use his middle fingers?) as he held his hands to his sides in a meditative manner with the palms facing up.

 

Away with the image of the composed, calculating woman who entered his hotel room with the dim light of the Egyptian sunset casting across her face. She may have held herself as such, but she wasn't the kin of the decorated statues in the forgotten temples. Certainly not! Pegasus had seen her in her work attire, the most notable example being when they hid the Winged Dragon of Ra in the Valley of the Kings. No one could make khaki fatigues and saddle tan work boots look enticing, less so covered in sand and sweat. He remembered viewing her from a distance as she spoke to her staff in an open tent in passing. He had been busying himself with finding a phone to adjust their travel arrangements before setting off to hide the God of Obelisk. If they were going to be sailing across the Red Sea for Sinai, it was going to be in _style_ on a yacht, not the godforsaken cargo ship she had originally scheduled, and it had been a party ship done up to the nines! Did he get a 'thank you' for the luxurious change, and on his own dime no less? Not at all. What he got for his efforts was a good deal of stink eye and snide comments about him being Belzoni incarnate.

 

“ _You only care so deeply of the carvings so you may rob my country and my culture for your profit.”_

 

But he _didn't!_ He did respect those images on the walls, the sacred tablets, _feared_ them so. They weren't just integral to his game; they had _spoken_ to him, _urged_ him to give them life beyond the tombs. If only she would allow herself the same! … Not that he cared at all. Not a bit. She was an adult, and an Item holder above all else. It was _her_ choice... and perhaps the choice of the Torque. Still, Pegasus wondered what she had seen when they stood at the airport in Cairo and—

 

He shook his head. It didn't matter. That whole business was as superficial as the unrelenting erection throbbing between his legs.

 

Pegasus ground his teeth and his eye twitched in irritation.

 

_Why isn't it going away?_

 

Perhaps he was spurring himself too much with his temper, crossing wires and inflaming instinct. He had read somewhere that it was all linked, somehow. He switched from the index fingers to the middle and pressed the tips to his thumbs, humming as he relaxed his brow. Away with the Red Sea and Sinai. Forget all about Cairo. Back to the Valley.

 

Perhaps a sense of disdain would do to replace exasperation. He brought his memory back to when he had casually observed her speaking amongst her colleagues in the open air tent, dressed in the ubiquitous tan blouse, pants, and knee-high brown boots that marked the professional, if stereotypical, archaeologist. After the stress of hiding Ra, she had loose ends to tie up at the last minute, and she had appeared daunted by whatever had been laid out on the table in front of her. Even she, acclimated as she was, had begun to succumb to the blistering heat that day.

 

The small, iced bottle of water she had grabbed from a nearby cooler had done very little to alleviate her hot and bothered state as she held it to her forehead. She hadn't thought to bring a hair tie on the trip and the loose, ebony tresses had stuck to the sides of her face and the back of her neck. There had been noticeable, damp rings along the neckline and axillary regions of her work shirt, and her chest had heaved as she took a deep breath and blew a stubborn, sticky strand out of her face. She was a far cry from the pristine grooming of the previous self he had met only two days prior, a disheveled mess as a single bead of sweat glinted in the sunlight and dripped from her brow. It traveled down her flushed cheek, tracing her jawline and slipping along the slick hollow of her neck before it disappeared into the dark, inviting valley between her breas—

 

_Oh God._

 

His hands shot up to cover his face and a strained growl rolled in his throat.

 

That just wasn't _fair_.

 

With a defeated huff, he dropped his hands at his sides, striking the sheets once with clenched fists as he stared haplessly at the ceiling of his bed again. Maybe he should have had a few glasses of wine before he went to bed, a spritzer at the very least. Alcohol had more or less proven to be a reliable mode of self medication in these instances. Perhaps he'd be better off paying a visit to the liquor cabinet as opposed to the shower.

 

But, _damn it_ , it was in his study down the hall, and the wine cellar below was a far cry from any possibility. Maybe if he called Croquet to fetch him a bottle...

 

Pegasus internally swore when even the thought of his austere, middle-aged butler and his granular voice did nothing to lessen the effect of the unwanted arousal. _Really?_ Well, he supposed he could blame biology rather than psychology at that point.

 

“You are a vile thing, you know that?” Pegasus murmured with a narrowed eye, somewhat uncertain if he was having a one-sided conversation with his penis or himself. He raised his right hand with a whine and rubbed his eye, trying to massage away the itchy soreness from lack of rest and increasing frustration. He didn't want to fuck; he just wanted to _sleep_.

 

Yet his cock seemed to be at vehement disagreement with him. Pegasus retained an irked sigh as his feet flexed and moved the sheets just enough to draw his attention. The solution was _obvious_ , but whenever it came to that, he couldn't shake the feeling that it made him seem so... desperate, like he was the personification of that hideous one-hit-wonder by The Vapors. It wasn't that Pegasus was prudish about the matter. He understood it was a basic urge, a _need_ , a common thing everyone did yet never talked about.

 

Though the one time it was talked about left a strange impression. He had been raised Catholic, educated enough to understand verses in Latin and Greek along with the typical proceedings and rites, but his household wasn't exactly strict about their practice (then again, he assumed those exceptions were typical of a Sin City lifestyle). That much was evident when it came time to have a serious chat about the birds and the bees, none of it involved with ornithology or apiaries and all about the not-quite-anticipated topic of the reproduction of the species.

 

Save for having loosened his string-tie after work, his father had appeared quite professional and business-like at the start, inviting Pegasus to sit down in his private study while they had “The Talk” in a set of tufted, black leather club chairs with a glass drum table between them. Though it was a task he was certain his father knew he would have had to undertake sometime, it had still been an awkward beginning. The usually articulate man had stumbled over his words and kept self-consciously running his fingers through his own silver hair. His mustache had twitched after every other sentence, and the tension had gotten to the point that he had politely excused himself to retrieve something to make the conversation run a little more smoothly.

 

 _Then_ Johnnie Walker Blue had entered the picture, and it didn't take very much of the smoky liquor—three shots, he recalled in total—to get his father to loosen up about the subject of sex, much to Pegasus' shock and adolescent horror. After going over the topics of coupling and nocturnal emissions, his father had run over to the secluded barrister bookshelf in his study and undid the lock on the case with the proud declaration that Pegasus was now old enough to have access to that part of the Crawford library. Supposedly, this marked some sort of milestone, as much of the collection had been literature brought over by Pegasus' great-grandfather when he immigrated from Europe.

 

The first item his father pulled off the shelf was a well preserved, out-of-print translation of Tantric scripture from the end of the 19th century, complete with an in-depth chakra chart for both sexes. After a somewhat lengthy chat about the importance of cunnilingus and learning far too much of his parents' doings (“King Solomon wrote poetry about it, wisest man who ever lived. If it's wrong to like it, your mother can slap a saddle on me and call me a jackass all day.”), he had concluded the talk by showing Pegasus an illustrated edition of the _Kama Sutra._ His father had commented that while “straightforward”, it was admittedly nowhere near as detailed or skillfully painted as the graphic novels he found behind Pegasus' Funny Bunny comics.

 

Pegasus learned a swath of things that day, some he could have done without, but there were two that stuck with him in his memory. The first was that he had done a horrendous job of hiding his Milo Manara collection, and the second was that his great-grandfather (and by further extension, his great-great-grandfather from whom he inherited the books) seemed to have an inclination towards... Eastern knowledge. He traced the Millennium Eye at the thought. Maybe Egypt was a fated pilgrimage, planned, _destined_ to happen all along, something that had been embedded in his DNA long before his time.

 

He furrowed his brow and still tried to ignore the pulsing at the junction of his legs. He didn't want to think about Egypt right now.

 

“The Talk” hadn't ended at his father, as it was a joint effort between parents and he assumed they thought it necessary for him to receive differing perspectives. His mother, however, had been more pragmatic about the matter and pulled him aside before she had to leave to meet with a bridal client (even now, he couldn't fathom how she had the patience to deal with the endless parade of bridezillas that plagued the Vegas wedding industry). She had given the expected, somewhat routine advice of exercising temperance and caution, before she quipped that she also understood the impulse far too well, as she had been raised in a household with six older brothers back in her hometown of Lafayette. She had caught Pegasus completely off guard when she presented him with an economy package of tissue boxes out of nowhere and requested, politely, that he not use any of the good towels, and to put a note on the fridge when it was time to make another order.

 

Before she left for her appointment, Pegasus remembered her making the exchange even more uncomfortable when she had patted him on the shoulder and kissed him on the cheek after she reminded him to be home by curfew, and to have fun with Cyndia at the homecoming dance—“But not too much fun, _cher!_ I do not want to be called _mémère_ just yet! _Il faut je m'en vas._ _Soigne toi._ _Je_ _t'aime._ Mwa! _”_

 

… He wasn't a very good dancer.

 

He wasn't a particularly handsome teenager at the beginning, either. Once the growth spurts began, he morphed from a cute child to a gangly, awkward adolescent whose proportions wouldn't fill out for another handful of years, and he swore his father's tailor cursed him under his breath every other week when he needed an extra inch to his slacks or had to make yet another adjustment to the arms of his blazer. There had been a brief period when he had to wear different shoes by a half-size to be comfortable, and he had seen his mother's preferred beautician more than she did for his acne treatments. Most of all, he had worried of Cyndia's reaction after a visit to the orthodontist, resulting in a set of shiny, obnoxious braces that rivaled the gleam of the sun when he forgot his wits and was foolish enough to smile, just in time for the big night! Cyndia, meanwhile, always looked beautiful, just as she had the night they met, and all he could think when they made their way to the dance floor was how much he didn't deserve her.

 

He really wasn't a good dancer.

 

Cyndia hadn't seemed to mind, and she had nuzzled his ear and told him to follow her lead instead. That was her: unwavering, undaunted, unfazed, accepting a challenge with grace, and he was more than content to fall in toe with her gentle guidance. She had been stunning in her tea length dress, smooth satin in a subtle sky blue that glowed under the roving lights. Her right hand fit perfectly in his palm while her left rested with a warm familiarity on his shoulder, and her long, blonde hair had smelled of roses. He remembered feeling complete in that moment, cherishing the feeling of her head beneath his cheek with his right hand resting against the small of her back, before she lifted her gaze and stared deeply into his eyes, smiling as she leaned forward and boldly captured his lips in hers. It hadn't been their first kiss, but it had been special to him all the same. Nothing could have ruined that moment between them.

 

Except it had been, when Pegasus recognized he was experiencing a different sort of growth spurt in his slacks. Right there, in the middle of the dance floor, among his freshman peers and half the faculty of St. Mary's Academy observing from the safety of the punch bowl as an image of the Blessed Mother overlooked the entire gymnasium, he had gotten a raging hard-on during a clumsy slow dance with his girlfriend. All the wretched cliches that made up the punchline in a sub-par teen movie and it was happening to him!

 

His breath had stalled and he remembered apologizing profusely as he had tried to disentangle himself from her, to save himself from embarrassment and to prevent her from thinking he was some sort of pervert, but Cyndia was always quick to catch on when something was amiss. She had placed her index finger against his lips to silence his nervous stammering with a “shush” and wrapped her hands around his torso in a reassuring hug when he calmed down.

 

“It's fine, Pegasus. I understand,” she had whispered when she kissed the crook of his jaw. “We can try something later, if you want.”

 

He could _feel_ her smirking into his neck with the words, and he was thankful for the dim lighting because he had been certain he looked like a tomato with white hair at that moment. _Of course_ Cyndia would be willing. She was always more aware, more intuitive, and above all, more confident in all her mannerisms, whereas he had been more... timid.

 

“U-um, well,” he had stuttered, encircling her waist and burying his face in her hair. “I-I... I'm just happy... being with you like this.”

 

Pegasus cringed in his bed as he reviewed the memory. How lame could a guy be? Luckily, while Cyndia did have a habit of being impudent when she didn't get her way, she had very much understood his sudden anxiety, and she was patient with him.

 

“That's fine too,” she had laughed good naturedly, “but don't be afraid to let me know if you change your mind later.”

 

All he could do at the time was nod dumbly in response. It had taken every fiber of his being and a mental recall to the Tantric book to keep himself from ejaculating in his trousers when Cyndia pressed her pelvis against his erection and bit her lower lip with a suggestive wink. Thanks, Dad!

 

Pegasus had been perfectly content to hold her on the dance floor that night until it was time to leave. They had cuddled in the back of a black Mercedes Benz as their chauffeur appeared to ignore them, and they departed with a kiss when they pulled up to Cyndia's doorstep. That was it for the night.

 

Everything else happened later.

 

There was always a pang in his chest, a tension as though his heart was struggling to stay in one piece, but he also couldn't deny the sudden flush across his cheeks or the lightness at his eye when he recalled those sultry moments. He remembered their first time at her house, when her parents were out of state on business and Cyndia sent the waitstaff away for the day, how she had led him to her mother's trophy room with mirth in her eyes when she pushed him down on the velvet lounger and mounted him. The walls had been lined with a variety of exotic pelts and animal heads, the metal of the long rifles illuminated by the fireplace, and Pegasus had tried not to imagine his own among the collection if her mother ever found out what he had done with her daughter in that room.

 

Though, he had to confess, he had found a great deal of excitement when they moved onto her father's art studio. The man, along with being his own father's best friend since childhood, had also been hired to be a private tutor, to broaden his portfolio when it came time to apply for art school. Pegasus couldn't help but smirk quietly out of spite from then on whenever he criticized his artwork or made an unwanted comment over his shoulder about his poor understanding of abstraction. _Say all you want_ _about my paintings_ _, old man._ _Your daughter and I fucked_ _right where you're standing._

 

They had gone at it like rabbits after that day. They didn't always have the convenience of their parents leaving for meetings and business trips, but they somehow, some way, always found the time and place. Cyndia initiated most of it, had been the one to take his trembling, unsure hand and guide it underneath the folds of her skirt while she made quick work of his dress pants as her teeth left bruises on his neck, had been the one who tugged eagerly on his sleeve and led him off to an unused room at a fundraiser, or the janitor's closet during lunch, or a confessional booth long after mass had concluded. Nothing was sacred.

 

… Well, that was an unfair thing to say, to _think_. Undoubtedly, the sanctity of the space had been violated, but the moments themselves were always precious to him; _she_ was precious to him. He cherished their time together, every touch, every kiss, every word etched into his soul, burning him like wildfire and setting his heart ablaze. She always brought out the best in him, but he had sometimes wondered if he had the opposite influence on her, revealing a lurid part of herself that she reserved just for him. It was the special side of Cyndia that emerged whenever she dug her nails into the base of his head and pulled on his hair, all while the most scandalous things would leave her mouth and flow through his ears in a seraphic tone that spurred him onward.

 

_Fuck, you're so big..._

 

_Get on your knees like a good boy..._

 

_Nngh, deeper. Bury it in me..._

 

_Oh, you eat it like a champ..._

 

_Pull out. I want it on my chest..._

 

_Bend over, Peggy. I'm going to ruin you..._

 

_Mmm, where did you learn that, you naughty boy?_

 

_Make me cum, you bastard..._

 

Pegasus had always been more than happy to oblige her, always ready, always willing, wishing they could have stayed entangled like that forever.

 

… but that was all in the past now.

 

Pegasus softly inhaled and exhaled through his nose as he fought off the tears that pricked at the corner of his eye. All the tender touches, all the sinuous sounds, all the best moments of his life, they were all gone with her.

 

All he had now were memories.

 

But it _hurt_ so much to remember. Pegasus couldn't allow himself to reminisce, to reflect. The pain was too great, and he knew there would never be another like her. There was no point in feeling want, feeling _desire_ anymore. His heart was on the frost, and that was that. To have want of anything—any _one_ else was inconceivable.

 

_You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means._

 

Pegasus had been uncertain why his libido suddenly developed a Spanish accent (he decided to blame the other in-flight movie for that), but he became aware with a mild jolt of cognizance that somewhere along the way, he had closed his eye and kicked the sheets off his body during his vivid recollection. When he looked down, he saw his right hand running lazily across his rigid cock, squeezing the head between his index finger and thumb as a clear droplet leaked over his palm. Upon that realization, he slanted his jaw with a tired, embittered sigh as he stared at the ceiling of his bed, chest rising and falling with a lengthy drag of air in self-reflection.

 

… Fine, then. He guessed this was happening.

 

He forced his right hand to remain still on the swollen flesh between his legs, but he rolled his head with his eye and reached over with his left hand, brushing aside the veil and opening the drawer of the nightstand. With a flick of his wrist, a cardboard box decorated with a light blue backdrop and paintings of seashells landed with a hollow beat on the pillow next to him, and the tissue that stuck out of the top mocked him as though it were a white flag signaling his surrender. He debated if it would be worth using any lotion in tandem, but decided he wasn't going to be all that vigorous with the event. He would only need the tissue cloth for the end. Though, with any luck, considering how drowsy he was, he'd merely be content to doze off during the session and deny it had taken place in the morning.

 

With a long, contemplative breath, Pegasus closed his eye and tried to paint a picture.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

_He placed the canvas aside and decided to join Cyndia in the shade of the African Sumac, the only tree that had any business growing in the arid Vegas soil. The blooming garden and trimmed topiaries of the extensive yard had always been a marvel, a verdant Safari of great variety, but it all paled in comparison to the sight before him._

 

_Her blush rivaled the red of the surrounding rose bushes, and he murmured sweet nothings as he brushed her blonde hair away from her ear and nibbled on the lobe. A small gasp escaped from her mouth as he reached behind her and unzipped the back of her dress, and her hands raised to cover her chest to prevent the fabric from falling to her waist._

 

“ _Don't hide from me, please,” he purred reassuringly, stroking the sides of her arms. It had been such an odd thing between them. They had made love countless times, but more often than not, she insisted on keeping her dress on. It was the only time he saw her self-conscious or unsure of herself, ashamed of how frail her body had become, how thin she looked underneath, but it didn't matter to him. He would always be proud of her._

 

“ _Please, let me see you,” he whispered into the crook of her neck, weaving his hands through hers. “Let me feel you.”_

 

_With an uncharacteristic, shy admittance, she nodded and allowed her hands to drop with the cloth. It was entrancing to behold the expanse of milky flesh, her defined collar, her slender waist, her small, perky breasts, to feel that smoothness under his palms and his lips. His tongue lapped over a rosy aureole while he fondled the other breast next to his head._

 

“ _You're beautiful, Cyndia,” he murmured, eliciting a soft moan from her lips as he suckled on her nipple, pinching the other between his fingers as his free hand drifted beneath her skirt, sliding beneath her panties and running along her moist slit. Hmm, already?_

 

“ _Pegasus!” she gasped, clutching his head to her bosom. “I... I...”_

 

“ _Shall I go down?” he smirked into her cleavage. It had been a while since he paid her lip service. There was a pull at the back of his head as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged._

 

“ _I think_ you _should_ lay down _, actually,” she replied. Pegasus beamed when he saw her confidence return with an imperious, arched brow as she returned his cocksure smile. That was his girl! Without protest, he allowed her to pin him against the grass, trapping his lips in hers and resting her palms against his shoulders. He savored her warmth as one hand roamed over her exposed back, tracing along the line of her spine and massaging circles on her taut lumbar, while the other busied itself with fingering her tight entrance. That came to a halt, however, when she reached down and grabbed his wrist with a chastising “tsk”._

 

“ _No touching,” she instructed, and he pouted playfully at the command, withdrawing from her underwear and making a small show of licking her juices off his fingers. The flavor was tart to the tip of his tongue with a smooth finish as he swallowed._

 

“ _Hands behind your head and close your eyes. I have a surprise for you,” she said as she covered his face with her hands. “Don't open them until it's time, all right?”_

 

_Pegasus chuckled in response, but he had a question._

 

“ _What's the cue?”_

 

“ _Oh, you'll know,”_ _she intoned covertly,_ _and she placed a finger to his lips_ _. “Trust me.”_

 

 _Wi_ _th a small snicker, Pegasus did as he was told and closed his eyes, resting the back of his head in his interlocked fingers as he vainly flexed his pelvis and wiggled his hips underneath her. His arousal poked into her thigh through his trousers, and he was expecting to feel the frills of her skirt drape around his head,_ _to_ _have her knees clench his ears and lips of a different sort to settle at his mouth, but no such thing came. Instead, his suspenders snapped out of place, his shirt was unbuttoned, his pants undone_ _and_ _slipped off his legs along with his monogrammed boxers._

 

_Hmm, sex in the garden? Whatever would her mother say..._

 

_Yet nothing more followed. The weight of his beloved disappeared from his lap, and time passed far too slowly for his liking. He was tempted to open his eyes—eye, he suddenly remembered, but she had given him a request, an order, and wasn't going to break it. Still, he couldn't help feeling so... exposed. He shivered as a cold wind blew over his body and his skin prickled into goosebumps._

 

“ _Um... Cyndia?” Pegasus said_ _anxiously._ _“Not to complain, but_ _it's getting chilly out here_ _.”_

 

_Which was strange. It wasn't uncommon for the Vegas nights to be a tad brisk during the winter, but he could have sworn it was daytime in the Spring._

 

 _W_ _ith_ _that_ _thought_ _, a set of lips wrapped around the head of his cock._

 

“ _Aah!”_

 

“ _You can open_ _your eye_ _now_ _,”_ _someone murmured against t_ _he glans_ _, and a hand snaked around to grip at the base while the other fondled his testicles. Pegasus looked down and yelped when he beheld what laid before him._

 

_Where he should have seen roses, there were water lilies. Where there should have been a yard packed with shrubberies and non-native plants, there was a delta framed by papyrus reeds and palm trees. Where he should have been resting on a patch of grass under a tree, he was floating in a river under the sun. Where there should have been golden tresses and milky limbs at his waist, there was an obsidian veil and sculpted bronze between his thighs._

 

“ _Isis!” Pegasus_ _bleated_ _._ _“Wh-what... What are you_ doing _?!”_

 

“ _T_ _ending to you_ _, of course,”_ _she chuckled with a_ _long_ _lap at_ _his scrotum_ _._ _“You've been neglected for_ _too_ _long.”_

 

“ _I haven't been_ neglected _,”_ _Pegasus squeaked in a panicked tone._ _“I was told to wait for a surprise.”_

 

“ _And now I'm here,”_ _Isis said matter-of-factly with a grin_ _,_ _licking_ _up_ _the side of his shaft_ _with the flat of her tongue_ _before she placed her attention back to the head. She_ _dipped her tongue into the slit and_ _lapped up the bead of precum forming there, trac_ _ing_ _circles at the tip while she stroked him with her hand._ _“_ _So what is the matter?_ _”_

 

“ _Well, I-_ _I_ _...”_ _Pegasus stuttered, and he found himself_ _momentarily_ _distracted_ _(aside from the obvious)_ _as fluorescent purple flowers_ _swirled_ _about him_ _in the passing waves._ _She removed her tongue from his swollen_ _cock_ _, but kept her head at his waist._

 

“ _I wasn't what you were expecting?”_ _she asked with a sad smile,_ _running her fingers over his length_ _._

 

“ _... Not quite,”_ _he affirmed, and he felt somewhat guilty (but why?) when her smile inverted and matched the aura of her eyes._

 

“ _Do I displease you?”_

 

“ _No!”_ _Pegasus said quickly._ _“No,_ _I'm_ _just... I'm waiting for someone.”_

 

 _H_ _er eyes grew more sorrowful with the words, and she rested her cheek against the crease of his thigh._

 

“ _I know,”_ _she said quietly._ _“... She won't be coming back. She ca_ _nnot_. _”_

 

 _Isis may as well have shot an arrow through his chest for the effect it had, and the_ _sparkling_ _water flowing around him did very little to heal his broken heart. He was about to ask Isis to—oh, Jesus—stop playing with his genitals and making an absurd spectacle of themselves on the Nile,_ _no matter how good it may have felt on the surface,_ _but Isis interrupted the thought before it could leave his lips._

 

“ _I'm not asking you to forget her,”_ _she said_ _delicately_ _, nuzzling his_ _cock_ _with the words._ _“All I ask is you give me a chance.”_

 

 _Pegasus couldn't resist_ _sco_ _ffing at that,_ _water dripping off his elbows as_ _he crossed his arms with a squint in recollection._

 

“ _If I remember correctly,_ you _rejected_ me _at the_ _Cairo_ _airport_ _,” he_ _pouted_ _. “What happened to that 'chance'?”_

 

“ _... A second chance?” she asked._ _She bowed her head, slightly, and blinked as she bit her lip, eyes reflecting the same uncertainty and distress he had observed before they parted ways in Egypt. The shine across her pupils was doe-like, hypnotizing and sympathizing in the same breadth, and he couldn't find it in himself to stay mad at her._

 

 _T_ _hen again, he hadn't been mad at her; he_ wasn't _mad at her. He just_ _could_ _n't understand_ _why she had chosen to hide her thoughts_ _back then_ _, after all they had been through that week. Just when those walls had been coming down, when she was finally starting to feel comfortable around him, she had chosen to put them up again. What had she to hide? He knew of her family, her upbringing, her beliefs, her own trails and tribulations, and she knew too well of his own history—the past was an open book to her. She had been quite vocal and opinionated of her sentiments regarding him_ _during their journey_ _, though he thought the impression_ _had_ _improved_ _greatly_ _during their time through Sinai._

 

 _S_ _o_ why _?_

 

“ _Why did you turn down my offer, Isis?” Pegasus finally asked. His arms didn't move from their place across his chest, but his shoulders dropped an iota with the question._

 

“ _I was scared,” she confessed, and her eyelash_ _es_ _fluttered against_ _his inner thigh_ _as she brushed her lips against the pale flesh._

 

“ _Of me?” Pegasus asked grimly, and he found himself cursing the_ _presence of the_ _Eye._ _He was named after a heavenly beast meant to spark inspiration_ _in the hearts of man_ _, but every time he looked in the mirror, he was more akin to_ _a_ _crude creature_ _that was_ _stabbed with a wooden stake and stranded in the dark. What would Egypt's famed redemptress want with a blinded cyclops?_

 

“ _Of change,” she clarified._ _Gently, she leaned over and nipped at the edge of the glans before placing her lips against them_ _in_ _an oddly chaste kiss._

 

“ _... Change can be_ _very_ _frightening,_ _” Pegasus agreed,_ _suddenly_ _unsure of who those words were for,_ _“_ _b_ _ut_ _wa_ _s there something you fear_ _ed_ _more?”_

 

“ _Loneliness,” she intoned._

 

“ _... I can understand that,”_ _he s_ _aid sadly_ _._

 

“ _So...” she drawled, tracing a finger up and down the underside of his cock._

 

“ _So...?” he repeated with a lifted brow._

 

“ _Have_ you _changed_ your _mind?”_ _she urged with a curious, almost anxious air. There was a shimmer to her eyes as she stared up at him,_ _a spark of hope, and he held his breath._

 

_Had he?_

 

She won't be coming back.

 

 _Those words, that sentiment, that truth still cut him to the bone and made his heart bleed, but he had to remind himself it wasn't the_ only _truth. For he also knew it was quite true that Isis was beautiful, and she was clever, if a tad too stubborn for her own good. Yet he also knew that stubbornness came from a fire that derived from the very sun that hung over their heads, the light of a star, and she was brilliant when she allowed herself to shine... and he'd be a liar of the worst sort if he denied that it was quite pleasant to be subject to her ministrations. Pegasus observed the water lilies twirling, dancing in circles as the river flowed around them, and he shrugged to himself with a simper._

 

_He needed to be honest with himself._

 

 _He uncrossed his arms and dipped a hand into the water, scooping up a water lily_ _in his palm_ _and holding it between them._

 

“ _To second chances_ _,”_ _he said with a smile, as though giving a toast_ _with a glass of wine_ _, and he slipped_ _the flower behind her ear. He admired how the_ _deep_ _purple hue and golden center seemed to glow as h_ _er_ _sapphire_ _eyes_ _brightened_ _with the affirmation,_ _and_ _his_ _jaw_ _went sla_ _ck in a gasp_ _._ _In reply_ _to his “offering”_ _, she_ _enthusiastically took his cock in both hands and deep-throated the length until_ _the tip of_ _her nose_ _touched_ _his pelvis._ _H_ _is hands entangle_ _d_ _in her_ _silky black_ _hair as he threw his head back, s_ _i_ _nk_ _ing_ _into the_ _Nile_ _as she enveloped him_ _._

 

_The water lilies floated by._

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

“Isis...” Pegasus moaned as his head rolled in the pillows. He had unbuttoned his shirt during the bawdy reverie, body flushing with a rush of heat that radiated through his core and spread to the limbs. His left hand drifted down the center of his bare torso and settled at his crotch, caressing his testicles and giving them a soft squeeze as he stroked himself deliberately with the other.

 

The situation changed.

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

_She was positively radiant on canvas, a deity deserving of her name, an icon who would make queens blind themselves in despair, and she was his._

 

_Somehow, the paint had made its way off his pallete and onto his hands, though Isis didn't seem to mind too much as the Liquitex acrylics smeared across her cheeks—a vibrant blue on his right hand and a rich crimson to his left—when he leaned down and held her face for a smoldering kiss. She was a resplendent nude, divinity incarnate as she writhed beneath him and ground herself against his clothed leg while he knelt above her on the tawny Victorian chaise longue. The gold bands at her wrists shined in the natural light of the open window, and the green gem at her forehead dug into the center of his brow as she buried her hands in his hair, panting against his mouth._

 

“ _They're not exactly large, but we can still—”_

 

“ _Hush,” he silenced her, squeezing her breasts while his eye glinted with mischief, supple flesh filling his palms with the perfect volume. “They're magnificent.”_

 

_He lowered his head and took a chocolate-toned nipple into his mouth, framed between the fingers of his hand print while he kneaded the other and relished the sensation of her grasping at the back of his head. His knee applied pressure against her heated sex, and she shuddered when she reached for the front of his pants, cupping the bulge in her palm._

 

“ _Out, now,” she demanded. What sort of artist was he to deny his muse?_

 

 _Quickly, he reached between them and unzipped his fly to reveal his_ _ambitious arousal_ _, and he had little time to contemplate the obvious as she urged him to straddle her chest. She stared eagerly at the quivering length between her breasts, and she held her hands over his as they squeezed the tanned,_ _imprinted_ _mounds around his cock. The softness, the pressure, the entire sensation nearly drove him to madness, and to see her gazing up at him with those scintillating blue eyes as she licked the tip with every upward thrust through her cleavage sent him into_ _a_ _frenzied delirium._

 

_Yes, definitely magnificent._

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

A bead of sweat formed at his brow as his breath hiked. He continued to rub himself, fingers gripping with even pressure and languid strokes, foreskin moving back and forth across the head while the index finger of his other hand traced circles along the exposed glans, imagining a moist, pink tongue in its place as they became slick with his own precum. Small jolts ran from the tip down to the base of his cock, spreading through his loins, and he flexed his buttocks in reaction.

 

Pegasus bit his lip with a subdued whine as his vision shifted.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

_Everything was at odds in the dining room._

 

 _The crown molding at the corners_ _and the chandelier hanging above_ _presented gilding and oak leaves reminiscent of a Rococo style,_ _while the minty wallpaper sported organic motifs more akin to Art Nouveau. T_ _he_ _vast_ _dining table_ _in the center_ _was an antique piece from the Edwardian era while the chairs that surrounded it were unabashedly Victorian,_ _all resting_ _on top of_ _an expansive Persian rug that_ _hailed from Qom_ _, and the_ _white_ _carpet underneath was comprised of Vicuna wool from Peru._ _The_ _silverware was a custom set from_ _a smith_ _in Connecticut_ _, but the ironically named “china” was truly handcrafted ceramic from N_ _aples_ _._ _A variety of canned jellies from Fredericksburg sat alongside a cluster of freshly_ _baked muffins, scones, and_ _biscuits,_ _as well as a vast, colorful array of fruits and ve_ _getables_ _._ _T_ _hough he was indoors and the sunlight spilled through the closed bay windows, the room had smelled of freshly cut grass with a hint of salt. He recognized the scent as Gyokuro tea, a_ _potent_ _batch_ _hailing from_ _the_ _Fukuoka Prefecture_ _in_ _Japan, currently being served in a porcelain_ _tea_ _set_ _brought over by_ _his great-grandfather_ _from Le Havre_ _._

 

 _Sitting_ _beside the_ _Edwardian table in_ _one of the_ _Victorian chair_ _s_ _upon the Persian rug_ _underneath the Rococo-inspired chandelier, sipping_ _the Japanese tea_ _from the antique French tea cup, was an_ _alluring_ _Egyptian, clothed not in smooth white linen or flowing cotton, but frilled silk._

 

 _Jesus_ _, she looked so good in his_ _shirt._

 

 _Upon first impressions,_ _one would think she would pine for the open markets on Qasr al Nil or the cafes along Al-Muizz,_ _but_ _she_ _looked_ _perfectly at home among the largely European accoutrements—his shirt included—_ _as she enjoyed her cup of specialized sencha_ _. To the casual observer, it would be a composition for nothing more than a glamour photo for a_ _n affluent_ _lifestyle magazine, but to the trained eye, it was an international spectacle. It_ _defied convention; i_ _t was absolute chaos._

 

_He loved it._

 

“ _Isis...”_ _he said as he leaned against the tall frame of the entryway, his voice low, her name long, drawn out, the last two letters sung with a fanciful lilt. Pegasus tried not to smile as he crossed his arms at his exposed chest while his ankles crossed casually, the whi_ _t_ _e silk of his lounge pants_ _shifting_ _with the movement._ _Between the two of them, they would have had a complete outfit._

 

“ _Hmm?”_ _she regarded him coolly with an arched brow, as though he wasn't worth the time of her taking the cup away from her lips when she acknowledged hi_ _s presence_ _. Already, she was playing the game._

 

“ _You are wearing my shirt,”_ _he said simply. He already thought her posture was impeccable, but she made a_ _small_ _show of straightening herself in the chair and brushed a lock of raven hair behind her ear, lower_ _ing_ _the cup_ _beneath her chin_ _._

 

“ _So I am,”_ _she said with a sultry smile and a shrug._ _“And?”_

 

 _She brought the porcelain_ _back to her lips_ _, raising her other hand and cupping the side with the tips of her fingers, and she blew lightly with her mouth_ _in_ _a perfect little “o”. A steamy wisp flattened to a stream before it settled and wafted softly under her nose, but she didn't drink just yet. She was waiting on his reply._

 

“ _I need it for work,”_ _he said simply, struggling to keep his serious face. Never mind that he had a closet's worth of the same, nor that he had just awoken_ _from a long night_ _to_ _join_ _her for Sunday brunch, or that he did not, in fact, have to work that day._

 

“ _Well, that lands you in quite a predicament, Mr. Crawford,”_ _she said,_ _feigning her disinterest as she closed her eyes_ _._ _Sip._

 

“ _Oh?”_

 

“ _Mmm hmm,”_ _she replied._ _She_ _remov_ _ed_ _the cup from her_ _mouth_ _by several centimeter_ _s and_ _opened her eyes again._ _“I've decided I rather like this shirt. I find it's quite comfortable.”_

 

 _She made a_ _nother show of combing her hair behind her ear_ _and took a quick sip of her tea_ _, but this time, she smirked_ _over the rim_ _._

 

“ _Therefore, I am keeping it. It is mine now.”_

 

“ _Is that so?” Pegasus drawled, uncrossing his ankles and pushing himself off the door frame. “And what if I decide I want it back?”_

 

“ _Then you'll have to take it away from me.”_

 

_His eye traced up along the smooth, exposed legs, the delicacy between hidden by the hem of the frilly fabric._

 

“ _Don't tempt me,” he purred._

 

_Though they both knew it was far too late for that._

 

_He slowly made his way to where she sat, and when she had been expecting him to immediately jump on her, to grab her, to tear his shirt off her body as buttons flew and hands roamed and tongues ran against one another with the tea forgotten along with the jelly and baked goods, he instead chose to take an alternate route. Her eyes blanched when the freshly squeezed orange juice rippled in the clear pitcher beside the fruits and veggies, and the unused teacups clinked on the tray next to her as he leaped on top of the table. Pegasus crawled towards her on his hands and knees, his shoulders rolling as he held his head low, thinking of a cheetah he had seen in a documentary. With every pace forward, he could hear the voice of David Attenborough narrating his every move:_

 

_Here, we see the young male creeping among his natural habitat, seeking an amorous liaison with his chosen mate. He pads discreetly around the obstacles on the surface, taking special care to show off his limber, sinewy body as he weaves through the bountiful feast before them. Though surrounded by food, he ignores the morsels, as he is focused on a different meal entirely._

 

“ _What are you doing?” Isis snickered behind the porcelain cup, squinting at him in disbelief._

 

“ _I'm stalking you,” he rumbled, the left corner of his mouth slanting into his cheek. He was mindful, if just barely, not to bunch the tablecloth as he navigated through the maze of food._

 

“ _Stalking? That's what you call... that?” she simpered as she lowered her tea, referring to his predatory mimicry with the circular movement of her wrist and pointer finger. “What for?”_

 

“ _You are my prey,” he said lowly, just narrowly missing an open jar of peach preserves that threatened to stain the fabric of his white pajama pants. He stopped above her plate and cutlery, kneeling forward and touching his forehead to hers._

 

“ _You're being silly,” she laughed. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her nose against his. “Get off the table and eat something.”_

 

“ _Gladly,” he growled._

 

_Isis yelped and took care not to spill her Gyokuro tea, holding the cup above her head as he switched places with her. He picked her up and laid her down next to her biscuits, leaning at the edge of the table and lifting the hem of his shirt above her hips. He placed his nose at her pubic mound and inhaled deeply, finding himself getting light headed, an encompassing dizziness overwhelming his wits with the scent. She was intoxicating._

 

“ _Pegasus! What are you—”_

 

“ _I can't start the day properly without my serving of mocha,” he murmured against her inner thigh. He parted her labia with his thumbs, licking his lips as he admired the swollen pink flesh in between the chocolatey hues. She looked delicious._

 

“ _You are terrible!” she giggled, her tone indicating much the opposite. She brought her teacup to her chest with a blush and bit her lip, allowing him to place her thighs over his shoulders as she reclined on her elbows to observe him. Pegasus began by tracing the inner lips with the tip of his tongue before gingerly flicking at the little nub above, smiling to himself as her breath hitched. He moved his fingers in circles on either side of her pelvis, gently massaging the muscles there and causing her womb to contract. He felt her tremble and tense beneath his mouth with a moan, and he flattened his tongue to slip into her entrance._

 

_He may have jokingly compared her to mocha, but the flavor of her was far sweeter, far more exquisite than anything that could be found along the coasts of Yemen. To hear her moaning his name with the emphasized syllables of her native dialect when she lost control—Pe-ga-su-UUUussss—was an elusive pleasure that set his soul alight. The smell, the taste, the sound, the experience, the sheer sensation of her was indescribable._

 

_Even David Attenborough was at a loss for words._

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

Pegasus licked his lips before a listless sigh left his mouth. Straight silver strands stuck to his forehead as he panted with shallow breaths, rolling his hips in a flowing rhythm as he thrust into his hands. His pale thumbs brushed the moist glans with each upward push, his fingers and palms maintaining an even pressure around his cock. Small beads of sweat began to form at his forehead, gliding across his knitted brow and wetting his hair against the pillows, and he groaned as he ran his index finger over his frenulum. His toes curled as a warm rush ran from the sensitive tissue and radiated to the end of his nerves, and he flexed his lower back off the bed.

 

“Nnngh... Get on top...”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

_Back at the Nile, the sun balanced perfectly above her head as he stared up at her, her eyes a contrast with the light blue of the sky behind her as her pupils flooded with lust, a shimmer that reminded him of the Milky Way. As she took his cock into her hand and placed the head at her slick entrance, Pegasus was thankful to be floating in a body of water. He was almost certain it was the only thing that was keeping him from overheating._

 

“ _So hot,” he panted, smoothing his pale hands over her thighs as she rubbed his cock back and forth across her swollen labia, teasing him._

 

“ _Welcome to Egypt,” she intoned. The golden pollen within the folds of the purple water lily glowed at the side of her head._

 

“ _I wasn't talking about the weather,” he breathed, a tremor beneath the tone as his hands slid up her taut belly, admiring the subtle lines of the abs. His hands continued their ascent and cupped her voluptuous breasts, pinching the dark nipples between the groove of his index and middle fingers._

 

_She smiled._

 

“ _I know.”_

 

_He shook with a groan as he watched her sink onto his cock, enveloping him with a pleasant heat as she slowly lowered her hips. A comforting warmth comparable to that of a candle flame poured from her skin and spread into his fingertips where he kneaded her breasts. She took him all the way down to the hilt and bit her lip when he pressed against her cervix._

 

“ _So good,” she moaned. She lifted her hands to settle atop his and took his right hand off her breast, bringing it to her mouth and kissing his palm. His left hand drifted back down to the swell of her hip while the hand at her lips curved to cradle her cheek. A gentle breeze blew around them, and while the flower he had given her stayed in place, her hair came loose from behind her ears, casting a curtain that framed her face like a dark veil. She appeared to be annoyed and motioned to brush it back in place, but he reached for her wrist before she could complete the task._

 

“ _No, don't,” he whispered, smiling. “That's a good look for you.”_

 

“ _Disheveled?” she asked with a cocked brow._

 

“ _Unrestrained,” he uttered. “Free.”_

 

_She hummed with a small, knowing smirk, and cupped his hand in her palm._

 

“ _It's a good look for you, too.”_

 

_Before he could ask her to clarify, she slowly raised her hips and contracted her muscles as she slid up until only the head remained within her, and he hissed at the sensation. The pressure she summoned was mind-boggling, sparking a small array of stars behind his eye, and he grunted when she swiftly sank back down and her buttocks met his thighs in a lewd slap. If Pegasus had never lost his other eye, it would have crossed with its partner._

 

“ _Oh,_ yes _,” he groaned. He dropped his hands from her face and hip, reaching around to her ass and squeezing the supple cheeks in encouragement. “Ride me, just like that.”_

_  
Isis purred lowly in her throat with a proud, sultry smile. She didn't need to be told twice._

 

_She braced her hands on his chest and rolled her hips in a rhythm he struggled to match with his breathing. He inhaled, taking deep, elongated breaths as she rose up his cock, holding it briefly when she paused at the tip before releasing a quick huff when she dropped her weight with another wet slap. The heat, the pulsing, the tightness at his loins was astounding, and he struggled to stay conscious of his breathing with every downward motion of her hips as he kneaded her rear. Already, he wanted more._

 

“ _Faster,” he begged._

 

“ _You'll get short of breath if you try to keep up with me,” she taunted, raising herself lackadaisically with the words._

 

“ _Don't... care...” Pegasus strained. Isis rolled her eyes with an amused shrug._

 

_She dug her nails into his pectorals and her teeth ground in a domineering snarl, somehow standing atop the water on her haunches to ride him at the pace he desired. His pants were rapid, almost erratic as she bounced on his aching cock, and he sank his own nails into her ass as he thrust his hips to match her. Her straight raven hair moved in waves as she bounded on him, her eyes closed in rapture as she moaned and huffed, small droplets of sweat forming on her flushed skin and slipping down her sinuous curves, and Pegasus was reminded of the river that lapped at their bodies. The purple lilies rippled, moved in arcs as the Nile splashed around them, and he sank into the water._

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

The white silk pajamas clung to Pegasus like a second skin. Clear, salty droplets rolled along his exposed chest and stomach, absorbing into the mattress while a wet halo formed through and around his hair in the pillows. His head rolled with his hips, following the same arcing patterns while his hands squeezed his stiff cock. The soaked shirt sleeves stuck to his arms as he pumped his shaft, and his lounge pants struggled to free themselves from his legs as they stalled around his knees in a damp bunch.

 

His breath staggered as he whimpered.

 

“Unh... Flip over...”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

_The Victorian chaise longue inched along the floor as he pounded her from behind, the bronze legs of the upholstered sofa scraping against the wood and leaving small scratches on the surface. The vibrant acrylics smeared across her skin, a clear divide of red at the left and blue at the right as he dragged his hands down her sculpted back and stopped at her ass, taking special care to massage the paint into the sumptuous globes. His fingers dug into the luscious, coppery flesh, lifting the cheeks with his thumbs to observe his cock thrusting in and out of her tight cunt while she mewled and clawed at the edge of the antique furniture._

 

“ _Fuck, fuck, Pegasus, fuck, right there—Aa-ah!”_

 

_There was a tinge of guilt. She was his goddess, his muse, his inspiration, a woman of illustrious standing with the sharpest of wits and a most extensive vocabulary, yet he had marred her with his hands and reduced her to a babbling mess. A devilish gleam crossed his eye and he raised a hand, slapping it across her right buttock and admiring the way her lush, ample derriere bounced as he left a blue hand print behind with a sharp “smack!” when she yelped in surprise._

 

 _He didn't feel_ that _guilty._

 

_Before she could scold him, he moved his hands from her buttocks (with some regret) and sank his fingers into her hips, bringing her into his pelvis and ramming into her with a doubled effort. There were profuse, wet slapping sounds as he pumped into her, feeling her fluids coat his testicles and drip down both of their thighs. Her moans were so loud, she was nearly screaming, her voice reverberating off the walls of his studio and thrumming in his ear drums. Anyone eavesdropping would have thought he was harming her if she hadn't been chanting “Yes, yes, yes!” as he fucked her into the tawny leather._

 

_The wall before them was covered with her portraits, many hanging in elaborate frames while most were loose and stacked in a horizontal order on the floor. All bore her visage: regal, elegant pieces that accentuated her prestige and held her to the esteemed status her names, a heavenly tribute. Yet the image that drew his eye was the one directly in front them, a mirror, and he smirked at the reflection._

 

_He saw her nails tearing into the leather of the chaise longue, leaving small rips in the upholstery, and he moaned in appreciation. It was something he would add in all his pieces from then on whenever she posed for him, a small detail that would remind him of this moment every time he painted her atop the antique sofa, their dirty little secret. Her mouth hung open as she howled his name, tongue lolling out as she panted between his harsh thrusts. Her pupils had glazed over with abandon, brimming with tears as her eyeliner ran down her flushed face, blending with the Liquitex hand prints on her cheeks. Her hair fell across her forehead and framed her head in disarray, sticking to the paint and tears, several strands clinging to her lips as a small trail of saliva leaked from the edge of her mouth and dripped down her chin._

 

 _It was a scene that was at odds with her immaculate renderings, so unlike the aloof tempests on canvas. There, within his grasp, within_ her _, Isis Ishtar was not a goddess reclined on a throne, but a hot mess on her hands and knees, raw, visceral,_ unhinged _._

 

_Crimson acrylic strokes ran across her throat as his left hand softly glided around her neck and cradled her jaw. He tilted her head back, just enough to meet his lips half-way, and he leaned over to whisper in her ear._

 

“ _You're beautiful.”_

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

His breathing grew labored as wet, silver tresses matted against the pillows. Pegasus had managed to kick off his pants amidst the vivid reverie and worked himself out of his shirt, completely nude and panting on top of the Egyptian cotton. A silhouette of his pale body shined under the limited moonlight in the room, aglow with a sheen of sweat. His right hand worked furiously up and down his cock while the other went back to fondling his testicles, jerking his hips with every downward stroke.

 

He bit his lip with a desperate groan, and his Adam's Apple moved at his neck with an audible gulp.

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

_Isis shouted his name as she arched her back, grabbing his hair in fistfuls as her thighs snapped around his head. A delicious rush of clear, sweet fluid flooded his mouth, and his throat undulated with loud, satisfied swallows as the excess dripped down his chin, leaked down his collar, and onto the tablecloth. Her legs quivered as she collapsed back onto the table, releasing his head and bringing her hands to her forehead, the frills of his favored dress shirt ghosting over her face and hiding it from view as her chest heaved. He smirked as he placed his lips over her clit and sucked lightly on the sensitive bud while the fingers within her curled in a “come hither” motion, causing her to screech and buck her hips as a small spurt flowed against his bottom lip._

 

“ _S-stop...” she begged. “Please, it's too much...”_

 

_He did as she requested with a small pout and withdrew his soaked fingers, but not without departing from her womanhood with a short lap of his tongue across her labia. She squeaked at the contact, tiredly peeking through her fingers and glaring at him as he lifted his head above her stomach._

 

“ _Sorry,” he chortled._ _He_ _licked his fingers with a purposeful smacking noise_ _as he_ _wip_ _ed_ _his chin_ _and his neck_ _with a nearby napkin. “I couldn't resist.”_

 

“ _Are you... satisfied... with your_ _'_ _serving of mocha'?” she pant_ _ed_ _as her hands dropped from her face and her legs went slack._

 

“ _Happy, yes,” Pegasus hummed, throwing the napkin over his shoulder. “Satisfied, not quite.”_

 

 _She glanced_ _lazily_ _between her legs and beheld his prominent erection poking through his pajama pants_ _over the edge of the table_ _._

 

“ _I know you said to stop, but..._ _” he_ _trailed off, hoping he didn't sound_ _(or look)_ _too desperate_ _._

 

“ _Yes, I did.”_ _She regarded him with a sideways glance and Sybaritic grin,_ _quickly_ _catching her second wind_ _as she nudged his hard-on with a soft, downward swipe of her foot and watched it bounce_ _. “_ _But_ _I never said anything about being_ finished _.”_

 

_Pegasus couldn't get his pants off fast enough._

 

“ _However,” she_ _said critically,_ _raising a finger to_ _illustrate_ _a point._ _Pegasus_ _halt_ _ed to look back_ _at_ _her_ _face_ _, one foot remaining in his silk_ _sleep_ _wear._ _“I_ _allow_ _ed you_ _some leniency with the_ _coffee_ _quip_ _, but i_ _f you_ _make a_ _n allusion_ _to_ _anything similar to dipping biscotti, I am_ _canceling brunch_ _.”_

 

“ _Now that's just incredibly_ _rude_ _. What do you take me for?”_ _Pegasus chastised_ _as he kicked his pants off_ _. Inwardly, he_ _sighed_ _in relief_ _, thanking the divinities above that Isis interrupted him_ _before he ma_ _d_ _e_ _a horrible_ _mistake_ _._ _Narrowly d_ _odged a bullet there..._

 

“ _You don't want me to answer that honestly,”_ _she warned with a smirk. Her legs trembled lightly as she settled her ankles at his hips, still somewhat weak from the first_ _(and second)_ _orgasm. Pegasus took mercy on her and_ _placed_ _his hands underneath her calves,_ _raising them up and_ _allowing her knees to rest around his waist._

 

“ _Oh, so you're the mind reader now, are you?”_ _he retorted, leaning his forehead against hers and as the head of his cock poked at her entrance._

 

“ _There_ _i_ _s no need to read your mind. You are quite predictable.”_ _Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she lifted her hands and massaged his jawline, ghosting her lips over his. Pegasus weaved a hand underneath the frills at her chest and located the buttons, undoing three with a deft motion and capturing a breast._

 

“ _I don't see_ _that_ _necklace anywhere...”_ _he drawled, slowly inching his cock inside. She moaned softly and cupped her hands_ _at the nape_ _of_ _his neck._

 

“ _I repeat—_ _”_

 

 _W_ _hatever she had planned to say was replaced with a long, amorous moan as he buried himself within her._ _He ran his tongue along the hollow of her neck when she tossed her head back,_ _savoring the subtle vibrations under his lips as he slid back and forth between_ _her_ _tight, slick walls._ _While_ _Pegasus_ _kneaded her breast, his free hand hooked under a lissome thigh and pulled her towards him, placing the leg_ _over_ _his hip_ _and feeling her ankle rest at his lower back_ _. She cried out as he took advantage of the new angle and penetrated her deeper, harder, and the ceramic dinnerware shook on the table with_ _each thrust_ _._

 

 _H_ _e inhaled deeply at the crook of her neck, savoring her scent, a blend of sandalwood, jasmine, and a heady musk that was uniquely hers, the essence of her thirst, her yearning, her desire for him. He wondered how much of the fragrance would linger on his shirt after they were done, and whether he should_ _stave off washing it and_ _wear it to his next big conference_ _that week_ _._ _It would be_ _a naughty little secret as he stood among his board directors who would be none the wiser while he carried her with him_ _throughout the day_ _. Or maybe, he'd be better off taking her to_ _see_ _the San Francisco branch_ _in person._ _Her presence would make the trip far more enjoyable, there would_ _be little hassle acquiring a guest pass, and_ _she would be plenty entertained. There was much to do in the city, and the I2_ _building_ _was an impressive piece of architecture in its own right. If the personal tour just so happened to_ _end_ _in his office, well..._

 

“ _Pegasus, the tea,” Isis panted absurdly against his chest, breaking him out of his corporate flight of fancy. He casually glanced at the antique set at the corner. The special sencha blend she had been enjoying rippled in its cup, and the French porcelain rattled against the silver tray as he pounded her against the dining table, inching the family heirloom closer to the edge with each aggressive buck of his hips._

 

“ _I don't care,” he sighed huskily, nipping her ear lobe._

 

“ _But it_ _'s going to_ _—” She gasped when he released her breast and replaced the hand with his mouth,_ _running his tongue over the dark nipple before grazing it with his teeth._

 

“ _It d_ _oesn't matter,”_ _he assured._ _If_ _Isis_ _had planned to protest further, the_ _thought_ _was dashed when he brought her other thigh over his hip and e_ _scalated_ _his pace, causing her to cry out_ _his name_ _and_ _dig her nails into the muscle tissue over his scapula._ _Pegasus knew, in the back of his mind, that the Gyokuro had been closely monitored under the shade of reed screens for 20 days, and that each leaf was individually picked by hand, and that the leaves had been steamed to the exact second within twelve hour_ _s_ _of being harvested, and that it was all hand rolled before it was sorted, packaged, exported, and purchased at a severe markup plus taxes. Pegasus was also aware that, when his great-grandfather had selected which items to_ _ship_ _over_ _to the States_ _,_ _such as the tea set,_ _there was likely much deliberation about what to bring alongside_ _the_ _most_ _cherished books_ _entrusted to him_ _by his father_ _,_ _and_ _what_ _needed to be left behind in lieu of_ _getting entangled in the brimming warfare_ _._

 

 _B_ _ut none of that mattered to_ _Pegasus_ _. Those were things that_ happened _, and what mattered to him was what was_ happening _. What mattered to him was Isis, arching beneath him and dragging her nails down his back, the feeling of her filling his hands and his head, the feeling of her tight core around his cock and the sound of his name falling from her lips with every thrust._ _All that mattered to him was_ her _and_ fucking her _._

 

 _A_ _mong_ _Isis'_ _sensuous, Orphic moans_ _as he_ _rammed_ _her_ _into the Edwardian e_ _ra mahogany,_ _t_ _he sound of_ _tea_ _s_ _pilling onto_ _the carpet and porcelain breaking_ _against silver_ _barely registere_ _d_ _,_ _and there was no true sense of loss_ _._

 

 _His forefathers_ _would have understood._

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

Pegasus heaved with staggered breaths as sweat dripped from his brow. His hands had gone back to working overtime on the swollen shaft, foreskin moving back and forth across the head with a lewd, moist sound while his thumbs rubbed against the sensitive glans with the furious buck of his hips. He moaned deeply before biting his lip with a shuddered breath, a desperate, choked sound just shy of a whimper slipping from his mouth. He was so close...

 

“Isis...”

 

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

 _She_ _grasped the back of his head and panted against his mouth as she rocked slowly against him, her legs wrapped around his waist while his own crossed Indian-style under her buttocks in a perfect lotus position. He weaved his fingers through her hair and cupped the nape of her neck,_ _and h_ _e licked her bottom lip before slipping his tongue into her mouth, tasting honey and wine as she moaned at the contact._

 

 _They embraced one another beneath the shade of a date palm tree, the river_ _sparkling_ _in the distance as the_ _papyrus reeds rustled in the passing breeze._ _There was no need for art studios, fancy furniture, or_ _silk shirts_ _, no_ _need_ _for_ _blank_ _canvases, expensive teas, or_ _the_ _creature comforts of civilization. It was just them, just_ _her_ _, with the wind to her back_ _and_ _the sun at the horizon_ _,_ _and he was happy._

 

 _His back rested against the rough, scale-like bark of the tree, feeling her grind herself on his cock while he held her against his body, and found he wanted more. He spread_ _his knees and extended_ _his legs, planting his feet against the soft earth below them. Before she should ask him what he was doing, he bent his_ _knees_ _and thrust into her, causing her to_ _gasp_ _when he raised his hips and bumped against the entrance to her womb._

 

“ _So deep,” she huffed against his lips. “So good...”_

 

 _She braced her hands on his shoulders and began to bounce in his lap while_ _he_ _undulated with her movements, the two of them locking lips once more and moaning into each other's mouths._ _His hands roamed along her back and her rear end, savoring the smooth, taut muscles underneath_ _his palms_ _as he pressed her chest to his. He could feel her heart pounding, each beat coursing through her body and sending a pulse down his_ _length_ _. It made his own heart go aflutter and his eye rolled to the back of his head, removing his mouth from hers and suckling at the tender flesh of her neck._

 

“ _Pegasus,” she moaned. “Don't stop. Please, please, don't stop.”_

 

 _He smiled tiredly into the crook of her jaw and kissed her just below her ear._ _She was almost there._

 

“ _As long as you need me,” he whispered._

 

“ _Forever,” she said, and he understood._

 

“ _Always,” he murmured, and her rhythm broke with the affirmation. She scratched at the tops of his shoulders and her hips rolled with a wild, wanton intensity as she began to howl in his ear. With each bawdy, wet slap against his pelvis, he could feel a ball of energy winding in his loins and his testicles_ _tensing_ _with each thrust. The growing heat_ _between his legs_ _, the sheer joy of her riding him with such abandon, such passion made his chest swell, and he hissed in gratification when she grabbed at his hair._

 

“ _Aah! Pegasus, I'm—”_

\- 0 – 0 – 0 -

 

A guttural groan seeped through Pegasus' lips as he threw his head into the pillows, moaning Isis' name aloud as he came. Stars assaulted his vision and sweltering waves crashed across his body as his back arched off the bed, his cock spasming as the hot ejaculate shot out over his hands. With every pulse of the throbbing shaft, a thick, sticky white rope splattered across his torso and landed on his chest in an impressive arc, and his limbs shook with each aftershock that followed. His knees trembled and his toes curled, hips twitching with each fervent expulsion until the contents of his stones were spent, and he whimpered in the final throes. When the last bout of light, modest spurts spilled onto his stomach, his body went slack and collapsed into the mattress.

 

His pale, sinewy figure was soaked in a coat of sweat, and he gasped and heaved as his hands fell limply to his sides, feeling as though he had just run a marathon. He had not expected the session to feel that intense, that _exhausting_ , and the tension lifted from his brow as he laid still, basking in the afterglow of his session while he caught his breath. He guessed he needed that more than he thought... but, he supposed, it would do him a world of good now that he could _finally_ get some rest. When the feeling returned to his limbs and he gained control of his breathing, he slowly opened his eye with a languid sigh.

 

The tissue box mocked him.

 

As he regained his cognizance, Pegasus looked away from the unused box beside his head, grimacing with a disgusted sound as he looked down at himself. His erection had subsided greatly, but in exchange, the warm, viscous discharge decorated his midsection like a vulgar web, and a small white pool had gathered in his navel and overflowed in a thin stream along his right oblique. With another unhappy groan, he lifted his hands and scrunched his face at the sight of his emission on his palms.

 

So much for prepping the tissues. He had completely forgotten about them when he was thinking of—

 

…

 

… _Oh dear God._

 

His hands began to tremble.

 

_Oh no._

 

His chest heaved again, eye blanching at the realization as his heart stalled in his chest.

 

_No, no._

 

He shook his head and the room began to spin, blood running cold.

 

_Dear God, no._

 

_No._

 

What did he just _do?!_

 

His trembling digits grabbed at the tissues in a panicked frenzy, nearly hyperventilating as he plucked the thin white cloths from the top and struggled to wipe his hands clean. No, no, _no_ , he couldn't have done that, not while he was thinking of—

 

His hands went limp and his lips quivered around his teeth as he looked beyond the veil of his bed. There, beside his head, staring at him the entire time, was—

 

“Cyndia, please, forgive me. I...”

 

Pegasus shook as he got on his hands and knees before the picture, feeling unclean as the result of his lurid aspirations oozed down his body. He bowed his head and his damp hair cascaded over his face, shoulders quaking as tears brimmed at the corner of his eye.

 

It was already bad enough that he had lost control, to think, even for a _moment,_ that it was perfectly acceptable to sully her memory in such a way, but then... Then... for him to even _think_ of—

 

“Cyndia, I-I... I...” he stuttered meekly. “I've... I've been so _lonely_ , and I... I just—”

 

Lord, now he was making _excuses_ for himself?!

 

Pegasus buried his head in his hands with a distorted whine. It was already _sick_ of him to fantasize about Cyndia, to make a mockery of his beloved's visage, but it was absolutely _inexcusable_ to put Isis in her place. Just to _think_ of Isis in any context outside of business was hopeless, but by and far, she didn't deserve to be objectified in such a repulsive way. “Serving of mocha”? _Seriously?!_ How could he be so _tasteless?!_

 

Oh God, and on the dining room table—and on the chaise longue in his studio covered in _acrylic paint!_

 

What the fuck was _wrong_ with him?!

 

Aside from sealing away the God Cards, he had spent the entire week trying to prove to Isis that he wasn't another affluent Westerner seeking to desecrate her country's treasures for the sake of profit and entertainment, and here he had just spent the last hour jacking off to the Egyptian like some twisted reincarnation of Flaubert. If Isis had even an inkling to his reveries, the woman would have been justified in belting him over the head with Said's essays on Orientalism and leaving him unconscious in Tahrir Square. That was as impassioned as he would ever see her in regards to him...

 

That was, if Isis had any desire to see Pegasus again, which he knew was a very emphatic “No.”

 

With a retained sob, Pegasus dared to look up and reached out with his hand, wiped clean of the filth, but still tainted, and brushed the veil aside to take hold of the frame. He brought the picture below his chest and a tear slipped down his cheek, running a thumb along her face.

 

“I miss you,” he whimpered.

 

Yes, he missed her so much he thought of sleeping with another woman. _Seven years_ they had been together. Seven years of laughter, love, and loyalty, and he had dashed it all for someone he barely knew for a week and a hallucinated blow job.

 

_I'm a pig._

 

He had been alone for years now, but that didn't excuse him for his behavior. Just because Cyndia was dead—

 

_NO!_

 

Pegasus gripped the frame tightly in his hands with a snarl and the Millennium Eye glowed against her image. No, _no_ , that wasn't right at all.

 

Cyndia was not _gone_. There was new technology in the works at Kaiba Corporation; there was another opportunity over the horizon, something that could open the gates to the next world, just as they had that first time in Egypt. This realm was just another constituent of the cosmos. Mankind _created_ the division between Heaven and Earth, and the constant search for peace was none other than a quest to attain a unity that already existed but remained _unseen_. None other than the ancient Egyptians understood this. Common man may have set the boundaries of nature, but he was no common man, for he had seen the next world and it _wa_ _s_ within reach!

 

… Which only multiplied his sin tenfold.

 

The light of the Millennium Eye dulled as Pegasus stared forlornly at the picture with a tremor in his lip. His throat burned while his natural eye felt raw, the thin, searing red veins staining the sclera and scraping at his iris like the wiry limbs of a tree. He sniffled and brought her picture to his face, shaking as a sob tore at his neck.

 

Cyndia was not dead.

 

She was only waiting.

 

“I'm sorry,” Pegasus choked.

 

**END**


End file.
